On Being a Mom

I don’t have children.

Sure, there was a brief period of time – about six months – when I did try to get pregnant with my husband.  It didn’t take and it was making me crazy and I decided to stop focusing on it for my own mental health.  And then things between my husband and I tanked anyway.

And at the time, after I stepped away from it all, I wasn’t all that upset.  I’ve always been on the fence about having children.  I mean, I don’t really like little kids.  I never know what to say to them.  I’ve never been the sort who gushes when I see a baby.  I don’t even want to hold them most of them time – it makes me nervous.

However, for the past six months or possibly even the past year… I’ve been feeling inordinately sad about the possibility of never having a child of my own.  It stings sometimes.  I’m about to turn 34 and my child bearing years are dwindling and I am sometimes absolutely devastated at the thought of my life coming and going and there being absolutely nothing left on this planet to show for it.

And isn’t that a messed up reason to want to have kids?  I’m desperate to pass on my DNA (and I could argue that the drive to reproduce at all is the drive to pass on your own DNA) and to know that someone is obligated to come and see me when I’m old and senile.  I find myself wondering what it would be like to drive my kid to sports practice (any athletic ability whatsoever would certainly come from said child’s father), or to sit with him/her in my lap and read a book.  It’s a yearning of the worst kind made even trickier by the fact that I”m not sure if I feel this way because I actually want a child or because I’m actually facing, for the first time ever, the idea that I may never have children.

And it’s all a mess, you know.  My love life stinks and I seem to make poor choices at every turn.  Most men my age who are single already have children and I am in no physical condition nor position of beauty to become a trophy wife and have some old, rich man’s baby.  And besides, what I want more than anything is a companion in my life; a best friend, someone to laugh with and to experience the highs and lows with… and yes, to have a bit of a family with.

But why now?  Why do I only want children right before the opportunity passes me by?  And is it even a real desire?

Alone vs. Lonely

Holidays are often described as being bittersweet.  Mine are no different.  Like any other person, I will complain about my family, I will roll my eyes at their antics, and I will swear I’m thankful when they leave at the end of the day.

Except, I’m not actually sure I am.

I live alone and I enjoy living alone most of the time.  What’s not to like?  No one leaves crap laying around except for me.  No one annoys me when I want some down time.  No one but my cat lectures me about not being home enough.  I do what I want, when I want to do it and I enjoy the freedom… until my family comes over.

At the end of the day, when everyone leaves, I’m left feeling oddly empty.  My house, usually the pinnacle of silence (not even the tv makes noise in my house), goes back to its silent ways and suddenly it all seems LESS than it was before.

Nights like these I am left wanting a family of my own.  Nights like these I could curl up in bed and cry my eyes out if I let myself.  I go about my daily life happily enough, but when it comes down to it, there is a void there.

Thankfully, the feeling will be gone tomorrow.  I’ll wake in the morning, figure out what I’m going to do for a work out, and then go about my day according to my daily routine.  Life will be normal again and I won’t feel so lonely.  I’ll enjoy doing my own thing at my own pace again.

For tonight, though, I’m lonely.